


Fools Rush In

by tioupfic



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, more ventfic basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:10:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tioupfic/pseuds/tioupfic
Summary: Aumerle broke Richard out of prison, but now they have to deal with the slow process of recovery, feat. chronic insomnia and its consequences.A continuation of Life-Tired but I think could stand alone?





	Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is reasonably ok? I mostly wrote it as a way to deal with my own insomnia/ptsd. But y'all were really nice to me on my last fic here even though I'm new to the fandom so I thought I'd share?

“For the love of everything holy, please, Richard, just try to sleep,” Edward pleaded. It was 3 in the morning and he was painfully aware that Richard had just been staring at the wall all night. 

“You know sleep evades me lately. I’m sure eventually my body will simply give out and unconsciousness will overtake me then.” 

Edward groaned. “Do you listen to yourself?” He rolled over so they were facing each other. “Because you really haven’t sounded coherent for weeks. Don’t think I didn’t see you yelling at a piece of fruit the other day.”

“I did no such thing.” 

Edward closed his eyes and took a deep breath. On the one hand, if Richard truly didn’t remember, that was concerning. On the other hand, if he was denying it out of pride, that could be good: it was more like his old self. The problem was that Edward couldn’t tell which was actually the case. 

“Why won’t you take the medicine the doctor gave you?” It had been a week since Edward had called for a doctor – it hadn’t been easy finding someone who was willing to treat the former king – who had explained that people suffering from melancholia often didn’t sleep right. Richard had taken the medicine once, but then refused it every other night, apparently preferring to prolong his suffering. 

“It didn’t suit me; I told you that.” Richard paused, vaguely realizing how petulant he was being. “It had the opposite of the intended effect. It made my body tired, but it failed to calm my mind.” He paused again, and in a small voice he admitted, “I was afraid to fall asleep. I may no longer be king of England, but still am I king of my grief.” 

It was exactly what Edward expected and feared. He reached his arm across Richard, guiding the king’s head to his chest. 

“Whatever you’re king of, you need sleep.” Edward paused as Richard shifted into his comfortable embrace. “And I’m here. No one can hurt you if they have to get though me to do so.” 

Richard chuckled and then sighed, both appreciating the sentiment and doubting the veracity. He settled with “if you say so” and left it there. 

He still didn’t sleep, but he did a better job pretending. Or, at least, he thought he did. 

There are some things about sleep deprivation that are too hard to pretend away. The first thing Edward noticed was that the dark bags under Richard’s eyes were getting worse. Then it was the constant trembling of his hands. And eventually, the hallucinations. 

Edward didn’t know when exactly those started, or what exactly Richard was seeing and hearing, but it wasn’t anything pleasant. The first time he heard one of Richard’s one-sided conversations, he thought maybe the former king was having a nightmare and talking in his sleep. But Richard wasn’t even in the bedroom. Edward wondered, as he got out of bed, if this was how new parents felt when their child kept them up at all hours. 

He immediately felt guilty about thinking that. Richard must be in unimaginable pain. 

“Ah, there you are, Dickon,” Edward announced his presence in case Richard had actually been sleepwalking. However, the look in his eyes – wild and desperate and full of fear – made it clear that he was very, very much awake. “What’s happened?”

Richard rushed over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You can’t be here, cousin. If they find you here they’ll lock you up too. You need to get out. Now!” He kept his voice quiet, but panic made his words sharp. 

“Richard… you’re not making sense. We’re at home. We’ve been here for weeks now.” 

“Home? Ha. You jest. The only home I know now is this prison cell. Which YOU need to leave immediately. You don’t – I miss you, Ned, I really do – but you don’t – I can’t…” he trailed off and glanced over his shoulders frantically. “The things they do here. I can’t let you get hurt like that. Please, cousin, please just forget about me, get out of this place.” 

“Richard, look. Really look.” Edward tugged at the sleeve of Richard’s nightgown. “You’re not in rags. I’m in my bedclothes. Why would I come to the prison in the middle of the night barefoot? What prison do you know that has…” he glanced around the room “comfortable chairs? You’re here,” he held the former king’s face in his hands, “with me, and you are never going back to that awful place.” 

Richard blinked a few times. Then, in a small voice he asked, “I’m not?”

Relief washed over Edward as he confirmed, “No. You’re not.” 

Richard sighed, smiled slightly, and then promptly passed out. 

“And he refuses to take the medication I prescribed last time?” The physician asked Edward as they stood besides Richard, unconscious in bed. 

“He has bad dreams. I think he feels out of control when he sleeps.” 

“I see. When you say that he was tortured, was there by any chance a psychological aspect to it?” 

Edward sighed and affirmed. 

“I imagine it must have been quite intense?”

“Yeah,” Edward breathed out. 

“Alright then. I can give him something for his nerves, but I can’t promise that it will be effective when the underlying trauma is this severe. I recommend finding a priest.” 

Edward paid the doctor and then went to look at Richard. There was no telling how long he’d be unconscious, and while he didn’t exactly look peaceful, at least he didn’t look as frantic as he had been a few hours ago. 

‘A priest,’ he thought to himself. ‘Dickon will probably appreciate it, the old Dickon would. I… wonder if he feels abandoned… there certainly was no god in Pontefract.’ 

Richard was slow to wake up, lingering for some time in an almost semi-consciousness until he finally opened his eyes and yawned. 

“Ned?” he rolled over and found Edward sitting next to him with a book. 

“Richard! How do you feel?”

“Um,” Richard paused and tried to take mental stock of how he was feeling. “Exhausted? Confused? When is it?” 

“It’s a little after noon. You passed out early this morning. Do you… remember anything about that?”

“I think… I think I was hearing things that weren’t there. I remember chains; I could hear my chains. And you were there to break me out. Edward, that was stupid of you… I don’t recall whether I ever thanked you.” 

“Yes, you did, profusely. But I have to know: how long ago do you think that happened?” 

“Several weeks ago, I’d wager. Most of the superficial wounds are closed up by now,” Richard rubbed at his scarred wrists without realizing what he was doing. 

“Okay, that’s good,” Edward sighed. “Because you know last night you seemed to think I was just getting there. You… you didn’t know where you were, and then you just collapsed, and I didn’t know what to do so I called the physician again and he gave me a different medicine that won’t make you sleep but he said it might calm your nerves,” Edward realized his own anxiety was bleeding into what he had wanted to be soothing words: hopeful words. 

“For you, my sweet cousin, I will try it,” Richard reached up to stroke Edward’s face. “I know how much you hated my drinking habits. But the sorrow life has gifted me weighs heavily, and if I am causing you too much despair as I am, you may freely go. I will write to you when I have recovered, if you desire it so.” 

Edward, with great difficulty, swallowed some choice words. He could be patient; he had to be. 

“No, I have no desire or need to leave you,” he responded, leaning into Richard’s touch. Then, he softly added, “not when I just got you back.” 

“It’s settled then,” Richard said decisively, sounding like his old self in that moment. “You will be aiding us in our recovery.” He kissed Edward softly, chastely, before adding much more tentatively, “may we make a request?”

Edward kissed him back once before answering, “of course.” 

“We are hungry.” 

“I’ll make up some broth –”

“Please, don’t, I can’t stand another day of broth. I’m sick to death of broth.” 

“The physician said –” 

“Please, Edward, I’ll eat slowly in little portions, just not broth. Do me this one small kindness?” 

Edward smiled fondly and tucked a strand of Richard’s hair behind his ear. “How could I say no to you?” 

After eating, Richard took some of the new medicine and returned to bed to rest. He curled up with his head on Edward’s lap while Edward stroked his hair. 

“What is this place, anyway?” Richard asked lazily. “I never had the presence of mind to ask, but it’s not familiar to me.”

“Ah. I rented some rooms discreetly before I came and got you. I figured the last thing we needed was to be known.” 

“Hm. Clever. How did you bring me in here? Surely it would look suspicious to someone that I had escaped and then you with me show up out of nowhere.”

“Actually,” Edward began, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “I don’t know if you remember, but you were really quite unrecognizable as yourself. You were…” he paused, and took a deep breath. Richard was about to speak, probably to tell him not to continue, but he held up his hand to silence any protests. “You were so weak. And so light. I… had brought you a change of clothes, just a simple lady’s gown, and…” Edward paused again. “When I carried you in, I told the landlord ‘my wife is very ill; please see that we are not disturbed.’ You were so limp, just hanging over my shoulder. My only solace was that I could feel your breath on the back of my neck. I’m so sorry, Richard, that I didn’t come for you sooner.” 

Richard rotated his head so he was looking up at Edward, and languidly reached up to brush the tears off his cousin’s cheeks. 

“You came for me. That’s all that matters. You risked being caught, being locked up and treated as I was. You reclaimed my life.” He dropped his arm and settled back down in Edward’s lap. “Do you remember, that last time when I was still hopeful? When I told you that for every man Bolingbroke had, god in his heaven had an angel for Richard? And those angels never came. But you, my dear, dear Edward, are a fool, and you came where the angels feared to tread.” 

Edward laughed wetly. “I’m not sure if I’m being insulted or praised.”

“Can’t it be both?” Richard responded, fondness evident in his voice. 

They relaxed in silence for some time, Edward still stroking Richard’s hair as Richard’s breathing became slow and steady. 

“I like when you pet me,” Richard confessed in the way that only a person on the brink of sleep can do. 

“Oh? Then I won’t stop.” 

“They dragged me. By my hair. When I became too weak to stand.” 

“They were appallingly cruel to you,” Edward agreed, not really knowing what else to say.

“I used to like having my hair pulled. Do you remember?” 

“I do, but that was different. Even then, you were in control. Always.” 

Richard sighed. “I do not know what is left of me and what pieces of who I was are gone. What pieces I would not keep regardless, or what pieces I may never reclaim. I hope I will become a better man for all my grief, but I fear it may make me crueler instead. Or, if not crueler, then colder at the least. I miss our times together. I miss Bushy and Green and even Bagot. You said before I could learn to make a body of a limb. Well. I have no need of an army now, but what of my own body and my own mind? I do not know if I have even a limb to work with there.” 

“Then,” Edward began, recalling the sting of his father’s betrayal that left them similarly without even a limb. “We will make you a limb from a digit. And then we will make you a body from a limb. And your mind will grow stronger; it is already strong to endure all of this. And,” he paused, biting back the habit to address Richard by his former title, “to confide in me. My competency as a confidante may be questionable, but my loyalty to you is steadfast. We will see you well and whole regardless of how long it takes.” 

“Comforting words, cousin, and while I appreciate them, surely you’ll understand why I lack your optimism.” 

“I –” 

“But please, let us not talk of this. Have you any lighter news?” 

Edward shut his mouth, grateful to not have to talk about his father and that entire mess. He thought for a few moments; not much good had happened lately beyond his rescuing Richard. This was surprisingly difficult. He knew that Bushy, Bagot, and Green would pretty much always be armed with some dirty joke or new game, but Edward found that he just wasn’t able to keep up with their antics. But at the same time, he knew Richard wasn’t asking him to be Bushy, Bagot, or Green; he just wanted to hear something pleasant. 

Honesty it was, then. 

“I hear that King Richard is alive and safe. And, at the risk of sounding treasonous, that’s the best news I’ve heard in quite some time.” 

Richard looked up at him again and made a show of rolling his eyes. “You’re hopeless,” he patted Edward’s cheek playfully. “Thank you.” 

They laid together until the next morning, Edward eventually moving from Richard’s hair to massaging his neck and shoulders, and Richard occasionally dozing off. He awoke frequently, and somewhat violently, but they were just bursts that didn’t last especially long. 

Edward considered it a successful night, and vowed to himself to do everything in his power to make Richard believe in his optimism again.

**Author's Note:**

> I did pretty little research, but I know I get hallucinations from insomnia. Also, re: the broth comment: I was starved for some time when I was younger (I was 24 and weighed as much as an 11 year old) and it was really frustrating to want to eat but not keep anything down. So I just went off what I remember from that.


End file.
